


fight or flight

by vengefulvillain (sweetsorrowss)



Category: Villains Series - V. E. Schwab
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Found Family, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:40:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24891742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetsorrowss/pseuds/vengefulvillain
Summary: victor vale isn't sure he's capable of being loved.
Relationships: Mitchell "Mitch" Turner/Victor Vale
Comments: 15
Kudos: 41





	fight or flight

Down a darkened hallway tucked away deep inside the Vale household was a library. It was laughably Victorian in Victor’s eyes, with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and large leather armchairs. He was fairly certain he’d seen this exact library in a period movie, given how gothic it was.

Thousands of books were carefully arranged alphabetically, with an entire bookcase dedicated to nothing but the Vale collection. His parents’ faces plastered on the spines, constantly mocking him as he settled down in the library to do homework, or sit in the comfortable silence.

He never did much reading in that library.

Many of the volumes were all but destroyed, blacked out with sharpie that bled through the pages to create in Victor’s eyes, art.

At first, Victor stuck to the books haphazardly shoved at the bottom of the shelves, collecting dust from disuse. His parents never looked at those books. In fact, Victor was surprised they still even owned them, what with all their talk of ridding oneself of unnecessary baggage in their own works.

After a while, however, he grew tired of those old volumes. He had the sudden desire late one night to branch out. He grabbed a black sharpie that somehow hadn’t died yet and made the trek from his ridiculously large bedroom to the library.

His parents were asleep. Or were they gone, on one of their book tours, but just neglected to tell Victor? It wouldn’t be the first time. And it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

Victor had loved his parents, for a while, at least. Now, 16 years old and home alone more often than not, he was finally starting to admit to himself that his parents may not love him. At least in the way he wanted, in the way most parents were supposed to love their children. 

The revelation had hurt. He was never one to cry, never one to show bursts of emotion, but the idea that his own parents didn’t care about him was like a knife through the heart, especially because of their hoards of fans, of their own writings in which they talked about loving your family endlessly.

His thoughts were all but confirmed just that morning, as he slipped into the kitchen to grab some breakfast and caught his parents in the middle of a serious discussion. He didn’t know what they were talking about, and quite honestly, didn’t really _care._ The second they realized they’d been interrupted, their conversation died.

“Victor,” his father said flatly, as a form of greeting.

Victor only nodded his head in acknowledgement, opening the fridge as his stomach grumbled hungrily. Tense silence stretched for several minutes before Victor finally pulled out a slice of leftover pizza and looked at his parents quizzically. “What were you guys talking about?”

“Nothing,” his mother said.

“Yeah, sure.”

“It’s none of your business, Victor,” his father said sternly. 

“Is it another book tour? Are you guys leaving again for three months? Or maybe it’ll be like that time you guys were gone for six months without so much as a phone call.”

“Victor,” his mother scolded, “enough.”

“I just think it’s unfair,” Victor said flatly, “that you don’t seem to give a shit about your only son.”

“Language,” his mother said. “And of course we care about you-”

“Not enough to even remember my birthday was last week,” Victor said, and he _loathed_ the way his throat tightened as unwelcome emotions clouded his brain. “Sixteen’s been okay so far, in case you were wondering.”

Much to his disappointment although not to his surprise, neither of his parents reacted. If anything, his father’s jaw clenched and he sighed heavily. “Victor, we’re very sorry.”

“You sure sound like it,” Victor mumbled as he nibbled a bite off his cold pizza.

“We’ve had a lot on our plates,” his mother said. “I’m sure you can understand that.”

“I don’t understand neglecting your own son-”

“Victor,” his dad warned.

“It just sucks, okay? Because you guys go around parading that you’re these flawless people that have all the answers to life’s biggest questions, and that’s not true. It’s all a bunch of fucking _lies-”_

“Watch your mouth,” came his father’s voice again.

“Oh, so _now_ you care?”

“Victor, stop it,” his mother said.

“I wish you never published a fucking book,” Victor said. “I wish I had _good_ parents-”

His father’s hand came out of nowhere. Before he could react, or maybe shield his face from view, the back of a hand was connecting to his cheek, a wedding ring cutting through the skin as the sheer force of the hit sent him crashing against the polished granite countertop.

Tears filled his eyes as the pain and the shock registered, his face stinging and red. He raised his fingertips to graze where he’d been hit, grimacing as they came back red with blood.

When he finally looked at his parents again, he found that his father was breathing heavily, as if he’d just come back from a marathon. His face was red and his hands were shaking, while his mother stood off to the side. To her credit, she looked somewhat shocked, however her face hardened the second Victor met her eyes.

“Go to your room,” she said.

So Victor did.

He never even finished his pizza.

Now, sharpie clenched in between his fingers, he threw open the doors to the library and stalked over to the pristine bookshelf decorated only with the most flawless editions of every single Vale book that had ever been published. There were surely more to come soon, with how much his parents locked themselves in their study. More books. More book tours. More pristine volumes lining the wooden shelves.

More for Victor to ruin.

He grabbed the first book on the shelf, a large volume that massed nearly 800 pages. Victor scoffed as his read the name, “Our Journey of Love, Family, and Fortune: How to Achieve Your Biggest Goals”. The cover was an illustrated picture of both his parents, with a child in front of them. The child wasn’t even _him._

He sat down in his favorite armchair, pulling his knees up to his chest as he set the book down on his legs. Uncapping the marker and opening the first page, Victor began his process.

He blacked out the first ten pages before he started finding sufficient vocabulary to use. Dog earring the page, he made a mental note to go back to it as soon as he found more sufficient words.

Three hours later and nearly three quarters through the book, Victor had found his complete poem.

I am sad

to see you go

How do I determine if I am capable of love

If it seems nobody loves me

I am tired

I want you to come back

I don’t want to be alone anymore

If family is supposed to be forever

Why does it feel like I just

Want it to

end

?

Victor’s fingers once again brushed over the bruise on his cheek as he closed the book. It hurt to put pressure on it. It was still swollen despite the ice pack he’d had pressed against his face for hours, but it seemed his father’s strength was no match for a store-bought cold compress.

He didn’t like to admit how badly his heart ached after blacking out those words. He didn’t like to admit to himself how true they were, how he wished deeply that he had a _normal_ family.

That he didn’t have the type of parents that forgot his birthday, that went on book tours for months at a time without telling him, that made him feel inadequate.

That _hit_ him.

His father had never done that before, but he couldn’t say it was entirely surprising. What _was_ surprising was that it took this long.

Breathing in a deep sigh, Victor begrudgingly allowed his tears to fall from his eyes. He stayed on that armchair, the now destroyed volume clutched to his chest as the sun steadily rose and illuminated the dark room.

He wondered distantly if he’d ever love anyone, if anyone would ever love _him._ Or if he was too detached, too ironed out and tired from his own shitty upbringing. 

He wasn’t even sure he’d ever truly loved anything in his life.

And perhaps that wouldn’t change. He just had to learn to be okay with it.

* * * 

The dining hall was bustling with activity as Eliot Cardale settled down in a chair across from Victor. Victor didn’t look up, didn’t bother meeting Eli’s eyes. His attention was solely on the book he was defacing, the side of his right hand almost completely stained black from the sharpie he was using.

“Are you high on the sharpie fumes yet?” Eli asked, leaning back in his seat. 

“Maybe if I was, I’d be able to tolerate listening to your voice,” Victor answered dryly without looking up. He heard Eli chuckle, then saw from the corner of his eye as Eli slid a cup of coffee toward him. 

“Thought you could use that,” Eli said, “did you sleep at all last night?”

Victor raised an eyebrow as he set down his nearly dead sharpie and grabbed the cup, which was still slightly hot to the touch. He shrugged as he took a sip, the drink burning his tongue. He winced slightly before lowering it once more.

“I don’t know.”

“How do you not know?”

“I don’t know.” Victor flashed Eli an innocent smile. Eli rolled his eyes, nudging his foot under the table.

“I swear to God, Vale,” he said, playful exasperation in his voice, “what were you even doing?”

“I had a paper to finish,” Victor said, closing the now ruined library book and pushing it aside. In truth, he didn’t really have a paper to finish. He couldn’t sleep last night, for reasons he truly didn’t know, so instead he resorted to his usual coping mechanism when it came to his mind supplying him unwanted sensations: destroying the nearest piece of literature. In this case, it had been a nonfiction account of World War I Victor had stolen from the library with no intent of bringing it back. 

“You’re insufferable, Vic,” Eli mused.

“Funny,” Victor said, “usually that doesn’t bother you.” 

Eli flashed Victor a smile, one that was so rare each time he saw it Victor’s heart skipped several beats. Eli’s eyes would soften, the little dimples on his cheeks would deepen, and his shoulders would slack from their usual posture. 

Such smiles were reserved for not many people, Victor knew that. And truthfully, he wasn’t sure how he of all people ended up being one of them.

“It doesn’t,” Eli said.

Victor’s brain was betraying him. He wasn’t supposed to feel like this. He shouldn’t feel like a middle school girl with a crush each time Eli so much as _looked_ at him. It was surely unhealthy, and would only result in him getting hurt.

“What are you doing later?” Eli asked.

“I have class,” Victor said, eyes lowering back down to the book. He focused on the plastic library covering instead of Eli’s face, trying to calm his racing heart.

“After class, do you wanna hangout? Get food? I don’t have anything going on and I think both of us could use the company.” 

Victor nodded, swallowing thickly as he took another sip of coffee. He nearly burned his throat in his haste to swallow it, coughing as he lowered the cup once more.

“Sure,” he said, “that sounds good.”

Eli laughed. “You good, Vic?”

“Yeah,” Victor said, forcing a laugh, “I’m good.”

He was most certainly not _good._

This was completely _terrible._

He’d spent 22 years of his life trying not to get close to other people, trying with all his strength to keep his distance. For so long, he carried the pain of his father slapping him in the face long after the bruise faded. He still sometimes shouldered that ache. A twinge in his heart that liked to remind him that not even his own parents loved him. He still remembered the day they found that ruined Vale book like it was yesterday. He was grounded for two months and forbidden from entering the library. Any and all books and pens he had in his room were confiscated, as was any chance at escaping the lonely estate.

They probably didn't even care about the book. It was just a reason to once again lash out at their son, who they deemed inadequate. 

So why would he be good enough for anybody else? Why would anyone else love him?

It was remarkably easy to keep that distance, especially because he truly didn’t _care_ about a lot of the things society seemed to give so many shits about. He didn’t care about the idea of a partner, didn’t care about the idea of sex, didn’t care about loving somebody unconditionally.

Until one day a broad shouldered man with a cocky smile and slightly unruly dark hair walked into his dorm room like he owned the place and suddenly Victor was completely and utterly _destroyed._

He began to realize he quite liked Eli’s attention. He found himself in bad moods when Eli went more than a few hours without talking to him. He liked listening to Eli talk, even if sometimes all Eli wanted to talk about was a God Victor didn’t even believe in. He liked watching Eli concentrate, focus on a homework assignment or some other important task that required his full attention.

He unfortunately really, really liked the idea of Eliot Cardale.

But then Eliot Cardale got a girlfriend, and Victor’s world went to shit.

Especially when that girlfriend was one of Victor’s only other friends. Angie Knight had been one of Victor’s closest companions, one of the only people he counted on.

She was so much more intelligent than Victor could fathom. Her curiosity was beyond Victor, how she always seemed to look at the world with an open mind even if she didn’t understand.

Victor liked her. He liked spending time with her.

And then she started dating Eli.

Whenever the two of them were together, it was as if a magnet drew them close and made them both blind and deaf to Victor.

Victor didn’t like to admit that it hurt, that somewhere in his heart he felt saddened each time Angie and Eli closed themselves off from the rest of the world, but he hid it behind a smile.

That was all he could do. Smile and pretend nothing ever hurt.

Maybe one day, it would work. And nothing would ever hurt again.

As if summoned by Victor’s own thoughts, Angie materialized like a very unwelcome angel at Eli’s side. Her smile was bright as she slid into the seat beside him, Eli’s arm immediately wrapping around her shoulder.

“Hi guys! How are my boys doing?” she asked brightly, eyes immediately turning to Eli.

“We’re good,” Eli said, and Victor quickly realized that despite the use of the plural word 'boys', the question was only directed at Eli. 

He heard Angie say something else, but he really wasn’t listening anymore. Before he knew it, the two of them were kissing. Eli’s eyes were closed and Angie’s arms were around his neck and Victor suddenly felt the urge to go vomit.

He stood up, carrying his book, his sharpie, and his coffee, and left the dining hall without a word. Neither Angie nor Eli seemed to notice, stuck to each other like glue. Victor threw out the still full cup of coffee, his desire for it suddenly gone as he made his way toward the nearest bathroom. Not to vomit, but to just be alone.

“Victor!”

Eli’s voice was loud as it cut through the hallway. Victor stopped, thinking at first he’d imagined it, until he turned around to find Eli in all his athletic glory running down the hallway with a hand raised. Eli was practically out of breath by the time he caught up, resting a hand on Victor’s shoulder as he chuckled softly.

“You left so fast,” he said, “but there’s something else I needed to talk to you about.”

“What is it, Cardale?” Victor asked, suddenly annoyed. “Where’s Angie?”

“She’s waiting for me,” Eli said, “I told her I’d be right back.”

“What do you want?” Victor muttered, itching to leave. He didn’t want to talk to anybody right now, least of all the one person causing all his problems in the first place. He was frustrated, more so than he had any right to be. Eli would never care about him. He’d never look at him the way he looked at Angie. He’d never _love_ him, not the way he wanted-

Soft lips brushed against his own, fingers grazing his jaw. Victor’s heart froze in his chest, fingers clenching on the book he held in his hand. Eli deepened the kiss when Victor didn’t pull away.

Victor, to his own horror, let it happen. In fact, he closed his eyes and shuffled closer and kissed Eli _back._

Eli’s other hand was on his waist. Victor wasn’t sure what to do with his hands, so he left them where they were, dangling awkwardly at his sides. Eli tasted sweet, like iced coffee and whatever he’d had for lunch earlier that day. 

Then they pulled away. Eli smiled at him, one of his movie star smiles, before he turned around.

And walked away.

Victor stood there, in the middle of the hallway, watching Eli go and suddenly realized, much to his horror, that he _did_ in fact have a crush.

It was stupid, and juvenile, and utterly unlike him, but it was the truth.

The problem was, however, that Eli never brought it up again. Victor didn’t either, the both of them electing to pretend it never happened. Victor’s feelings remained, stronger than ever now, but his bitterness also grew each time he saw Eli and Angie together.

He had a desire to tell Angie what Eli had done, that Eli had kissed him in the middle of the hallway. He considered it several times when the three of them were together, Eli and Angie ignoring him while Victor watched from the sidelines as they wrestled with their mouths.

He could ruin it. He could tell her.

But he didn’t, because as angry as he was, as much as it pained him, he didn’t want to hurt Angie.

Even if he desperately wanted Eli’s attention, and would therefore resort to whatever means necessary, dragging other people into the equation was needless baggage Victor wasn’t willing to shoulder. Especially when that other person happened to be Victor’s only other friend.

So he stayed silent. His friendship with Eli remained the same, as did his friendship with Angie. 

All up until that ice bath.

That party.

His own disastrous attempt to be Eli’s equal.

Until suddenly, Victor’s entire life imploded.

* * * 

Inside a hotel somewhere in Merit, late at night or early in the morning depending on how you looked at it, sat a man with a problem.

Victor Vale flicked through another file, eyes scanning over pictures he’d already seen so many times he could point them out in a hundred person lineup. All of them EOs. All of them dead.

All of them killed by Eli Cardale. Or, he supposed, it was Eli Ever now.

Victor sighed as he closed the file and flashed a quick glance at the oven clock, where bright numbers flashed the time. 3:09 AM. 

Sydney was asleep in her room, had been for hours now. Or maybe she wasn’t. Maybe she was watching movies on Mitch’s laptop, or staring at the ceiling, thinking about how all of this would end like Victor did all the time.

Somewhere in the distance, somebody was setting off fireworks.

Victor stifled a yawn and grabbed another file. Yes, he was tired. Yes, he wanted nothing more than to crawl into the bed he shared with Mitch and sleep.

But he wanted Eli more. He wanted to find Eli.

He wanted to make Eli pay. He wanted to see the look on Eli’s face when the two met again, Victor a decade older and looking it but Eli still bearing the same features.

“Vic.”

Victor’s eyes snapped open. He hadn’t realized, but he’d been dozing, head drooping forward as his body readied to sleep sitting up with his head on the uncomfortable countertop. He mumbled something about being awake when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

Mitchell Turner was not who Victor expected to end up with. Large, intimidating, covered in tattoos. 

Victor tensed under Mitch’s touch. Admittedly, he was still trying to get used to physical contact. Especially _affectionate_ physical contact. Five years in solitary confinement did a number on him, not to mention the over 30 years of distance he’d managed to keep from other people.

But Mitch. 

Mitch was different. Mitch wasn’t his parents, cold and closed off and adamantly refusing to even pretend to care.

Mitch wasn’t Eli. He wasn’t arrogant, didn’t string Victor along and play with his emotions only to pretend like nothing ever happened.

Mitch was just… Mitch. Widely intelligent, more so than anybody Victor had ever met. He was funny, able to make even Victor chuckle sometimes. He teased Sydney, made her feel at home almost immediately despite the fact she’d essentially lost everything.

Mitch was somebody Victor wasn’t sure he even deserved, yet here he was. 

He’d spent a decade with Mitchell Turner. Of course, most of that time was spent in prison, and technically he didn’t see Mitch once during half of that decade while in solitary, but as Mitch’s cellmate, he was fairly certain Mitch knew him better than he ever allowed anybody to know.

It was a distressing realization when Victor understood he felt something for the man, something more than what he felt for Eli all those years ago. Something much further from a simple infatuation, a mere curiosity. 

Something a little bit closer to love.

And, if his ability to read Mitch was correct, Mitch felt the same way back.

It was terrifying at first. Victor couldn’t afford to care for anybody like that, not now. He didn’t want to have something to lose, something for Eli to exploit. Mitch was a weakness. So was Sydney, because he loved her too.

Mitch grabbed the file Victor had been staring at but not quite comprehending. He looked at it briefly, then closed it and pushed it to the side. “You need to sleep, Vic.”

“I’m fine,” Victor said, doing his best to sound like he wasn’t half asleep as he spoke. It didn’t work.

“Don’t bullshit me at three-eleven in the morning,” Mitch scoffed, “you haven’t slept in what? Three days? I know you want to get to Eli. But you can’t do that if you’re falling asleep sitting up.”

“I”m fi-”

“Victor Vale, get in the bed right now.”

Victor met Mitch’s eyes. Mitch was glaring at him, one eyebrow raised. Victor couldn’t help but laugh.

“You don’t scare me.”

Mitch broke the facade, smiling as he rolled his eyes. “Well sometimes _you_ scare me. Now get the fuck to bed.” 

Begrudgingly, Victor stood, and followed Mitch into the bedroom the two of them shared. On the way, he peered inside Sydney’s room from the cracked open door. She was sound asleep, curled up under the covers with her arm half covering her face. 

When Victor joined Mitch in the bedroom, Mitch was already back in bed. He watched Victor curiously, raising a brow as if surprised Victor actually decided to climb into bed. 

“You’ll find him, Victor,” Mitch said, “and you guys will hash out your bullshit college angst, but for now you need to rest.”

“I don’t need to-”

“You can’t exactly face Eli if you can barely stand without collapsing. Not to mention he’s still in the body of a 22 year old athlete, so…”

Victor couldn’t help but smile the smallest smile. “Are you saying I’m old?”

“You’ve seen better days.”

Victor nudged Mitch’s leg under the covers while Mitch laughed. The two of them settled into a comfortable silence, until Victor finally drifted off into a comfortable, much needed sleep.

Victor never voiced it, but he was grateful for Mitch in ways the older man would probably never know. Mitch was the only constant in the last ten years, the only person in his entire life he truly felt like he could rely on. 

Mitch kept him from pushing too hard, from making mistakes he would have made if Mitch hadn’t been there. He was stubborn to a fault, he knew that. But so was Mitch, and Mitch wouldn’t let him get hurt.

Nobody had ever, in all his life, had his back like that. Nobody looked out for him, helped him, stayed with him the way Mitchell Turner had.

Victor Vale had never thought he was capable of being loved, but he was starting to change his mind. 

When Victor woke up the next morning, Mitch and Sydney were both already awake. Sydney was eating pancakes and Mitch was working on a glass of chocolate milk by the time Victor joined them. 

Victor accepted the mug of coffee Mitch handed to him, and he couldn’t help but draw a parallel to a different life altogether. A different guy handing him a cup of coffee, in what seemed like a different world. He was a different man back then, too.

To his utter distress, Mitch pressed a kiss to his temple before walking back into the kitchen. Sydney nearly choked on her pancake.

Victor and Mitch never shared very many forms of physical affection. There had been a few instances of fingers brushing together, sitting close enough it almost bordered on cuddling. They kissed once, weeks ago, but Victor had admittedly panicked inside and did his best to ensure it never happened again.

Because he convinced himself that was what he wanted, but it wasn’t.

He wanted Mitchell Turner. For the first time since he was 16 years old, he wanted to let himself be loved. 

Taking a sip of coffee, he joined Mitch in the kitchen. Mitch was scrolling through what looked like police reports on his laptop, while Sydney was looking at the files Victor had been looking over the night before.

“Eli is an asshole,” Sydney said, breaking the silence. Victor raised an eyebrow and Mitch laughed, nearly choking on his chocolate milk. Her eyes were still on a file. This time, she was looking at a new one. Instead of dead EOs, this one was filled with potential targets. The next victims of Eli’s attacks.

“He is,” Victor agreed.

His body tensed the second he felt Mitch’s arm snake around his waist and pull him closer. He half expected Mitch to move away again, but his arm remained. Sydney tilted her head to the side, raising an eyebrow before looking back down at the file as if attempting to ignore the situation between the two men.

“Whatever happens,” Mitch said, his lips right next to Victor’s ear, “we’re with you all the way.”

“Agreed,” Sydney said flatly, adamantly refusing to look at either of them.

Victor wasn’t sure what to say, what to do, so he just nodded his head. He didn’t smile, didn’t thank them rigorously, because that wasn’t who he _was._ He wasn't good with emotions, he wasn't good with the concept of love and partnership.

He was just Victor.

But it seemed Mitchell Turner didn’t mind.

Victor took another sip of his coffee and reluctantly leaned in against Mitch’s embrace, and realized that despite everything, he was more content than he’d ever been.

He was no longer alone.

**Author's Note:**

> [ stalk me on twitter ](https://twitter.com/zichensmoon)


End file.
